


Smoking Gun

by Fabrisse



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 17:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabrisse/pseuds/Fabrisse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid PTSD</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoking Gun

There are many types of memory.

Sense memory is one of the strongest, especially where scent is concerned. A little piece of the brain is exposed at the back of the nose; there's no mediation between the scent and the memory. Cognition never interferes.

He remembers trying to explain that his aural memory wasn't extraordinary. Everything he reads is locked in his head, but the sounds are fresh every time. It's why Reid loves jazz, the base song is there, somewhere, but the musician reconciles the melody the composer wrote with the variations heard deep inside. Memories of listening to his mother's voice reciting poetry or sharing Proust with him were there, but it's the timbre and the intimacy -- and the clarity and the sanity -- that he remembers not the words.

Muscle memory is important, too. Dancers and athletes use it constantly: geeks, not so much, or at least that's the general perception. Anyone can learn a pattern, though. Repetition means we can always walk, or wrap our mouths around words we use often. Muscle memory can react more quickly than the brain perceives, especially when the brain is addled.

Repetition, constant repetition, each movement separate but flowing. It's not easy for him. He fails. He never even tries for a hand combat qualification, though he does meet up with Morgan in the gym twice a week for some basic evasive maneuvers, and he still has to run that damned obstacle course every year or so to be allowed out in the field.

Here's one sequence he never forgets: Front site, control trigger press, follow through. One handed isn't recommended, but he can do it one handed with accuracy. He practices with both hands and each hand, always the sequence Hotch taught him.

The smell hits him first. There was a sign outside the station announcing a fish fry tomorrow to raise money for charity. It's not unusual during Lent for fire stations or police stations to have them. Around here, the fish is obviously fresh caught. One part of him sees the off-duty officers who are volunteering to clean them. Some of the guts must have gotten on the coffee hot plate.

Reid thinks he's covering it well, until he feels Hotch's hand on his shoulder. Hotch steps beside him voice soft, one hand sliding under Reid's where he'd reached for his weapon. "You okay?"

He's not. They both know it. The first flash hits him, and he turns toward Hotch. "I'll be fine. Walk me to the men's room?" Distantly, he hears Morgan asking someone where the restrooms are pleading too much coffee on the plane. Out of the corner of his eye, he realizes Rossi nearly tripped over Prentiss. All of them, all of them who'd been _there_, had frozen at the smell.

Hotch passes him off to Morgan, and they walk together following the directions Morgan has been given.

The second wave hits him as they go into the men's room together. Morgan blocks the door.

Reid heads right for the sink, gets as much soap on his hands as he can to fight the smell. It's different now. The odor of a cemetery is the rich scent of dirt as he digs his own grave. This is the hardest moment. The memory of pain brings the memories of bliss, and his brains and veins beg for the sensual pleasure of opiates.

He runs the water as hot as he can stand. It helps, he's found. Morgan stands by the door waiting for the end. It's not the first time for any of them. The final flash isn't just one; there are three images in rapid succession. Dowd with a third eye in the middle of his forehead, the shot just adding to the stench of fear and gunpowder already in the emergency room, is the first quick flash. The second, never as blessedly fast, is Tobias. Reid feels the recoil from the gun all the way up his arm. He knows the choice was "him or me," but there are times when he regrets the choice was "me."

The last flash is almost comforting, a reminder of why the choice he made was for his own life. The gun is pointed at his face, not for the first time -- six chambers, one bullet, two dry clicks. He chooses a victim and chooses to believe his team will have faith in him -- in his mind and not his fear. For all he lacks aural memory, the sound of the shot in that cabin is indelibly etched into his brain. The last smell wafts across his memory: cordite from old revolver rounds.

It's the end. There's a brief second where he sees smoke from the gun's barrel, a reminder of how close he was to death at that moment.

Reid can feel how hot the water is now. He flinches and turns the taps off. In the mirror, he can see that Morgan's stance has relaxed. They all know the sequence. All of them can tell -- except Rossi.

As he dries his hands, he turns to Morgan, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's been, what, six months?"

Reid thinks for a moment. "Just over six since I had an incident on the job. The nightmares still crop up from time to time."

"I hear that." Morgan meets his eyes. "Me, too."

"I think I'll skip the fish fry tomorrow." His mouth quirks in a small smile.

"I bet Hotch'll buy everyone a steakhouse lunch tomorrow." Morgan's grin is infectious.

One of the local cops makes a remark about Reid as they exit. He can tell Morgan's about to get in the guy's face and puts a hand on his shoulder, echoing Hotch's response of a few minutes earlier.

They make their way back to the team. Reid sees Hotch and Emily relax. He'll ask JJ to have a drink with him later. She'll relax a little and talk to Will and Henry and be fine.

And tomorrow night, he'll finally share the memory with Rossi.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to Criminal Prompt's first prompt: A smoking gun.


End file.
